With a grumble and bleary eyes, he sits up in bed. Long arms blindly fumbling around the bedside table in search of his glasses. He scans the room. No Beloved to be seen… Unusual. He frowns. Exiting the bedroom, he quietly steps into the hall. No noise, no lights. His eyebrows furrow. Downstairs maybe?

Creeping down the stair, Zayne is met with only darkness. Not even the moonlight greets him. His pace quickens until he reaches the bottom step. Amber light filters through the kitchen doorway. As he hears the soft shuffle of your slippers on title his shoulders relax. He continues with his quiet pace as he approaches the kitchen. Your humming is louder now. Quietly singing along to a tune he cannot hear.

His lips quirk up at the sight of you hunched over a bowl aggressively mixing something. Your hair messy from sleep. Your headphones push across your forehead to keep the strands out of your eyes. Causing your hair to stick straight up and in all directions. He fondly gazes upon you. An unguarded warm smile graces his face.

Slowly, he tip toes closer. You, clearly oblivious to your surroundings, continue your battle against the chocolate chips and batter. His arms snake around your waist. With a loud gasp, you jolt in his grip, but relax as soon as he nuzzles his face into the small hairs at your nape. Your flour covered hand reaches up to nudge the headphone. “Zaynieeeee” you whine, “You can’t just sneak up on someone at three in the morning!” You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but Zayne only holds you tighter and nuzzles closer. “You can’t just leave me to sleep in bed alone at 3 in the morning.” His voice raspy from sleep.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided I might as well use this extra time to make cookies for the HA’s company potluck.” You continue to mix the chips into the dough. “You always say I shouldn’t lay in bed if I can’t sleep, so I am only following doctors orders.” You beam and wink at him over your shoulder. Zayne lets out a quiet huff of amusement, but you don’t miss the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Since you are making these for your, very important, colleagues. It is only logical to make sure this batch of cookie dough can pass a quality control test. Wouldn’t you agree?” He raises an eyebrow at you. Yours furrow.

Before you can respond, he gracefully snatches the paddle from your hands. “Zayne--!” You reach up trying to grab the paddle back, but he only lifts it out of reach. Completely ignoring you. “Visually, the dough is appealing. The flour is fully mixed through. No lumps. Evenly dispersed chocolate chips.” He wafts the dough with his hand, “The smell is sweet combined with the earthy caramel flavor from the brown sugar.” He smirks down at you. “All senses indicate that this will be the perfect, homemade, chocolate chip cookie.”

You jump, trying to grab your spatula from the confection thief, but he does not relent.

“All that is left is a taste test.” You gasp in horror, “Zayne no! You could get salmonella!” Redoubling your efforts, you pull on his well defined bicep. But barely budges like you are merely a small inconvenience.

“Salmonella is rare when one eats raw cookie dough.”

“But the raw eggs!?”

“Hardly an issue, the bigger issue would be the uncooked raw flour.” he states clinically, “It needs to be heated to 160°F or 71°C before it is safe to consume.”

You stare at Zayne, one eyebrow raised as your flour covered hands rest on your hips, “So you are saying, in your professional, doctor, opinion, that eating raw cookie dough is potentially hazardous?”

Silence.

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